{"id":28029,"date":"2012-03-15T13:00:21","date_gmt":"2012-03-15T17:00:21","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=28029"},"modified":"2016-03-03T12:10:03","modified_gmt":"2016-03-03T17:10:03","slug":"%e2%80%9cboy%e2%80%99s-room%e2%80%9d","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2012\/03\/15\/%e2%80%9cboy%e2%80%99s-room%e2%80%9d\/","title":{"rendered":"George Oppen\u2019s \u201cBoy\u2019s Room\u201d"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"<\/a>

George Oppen.<\/p><\/div>\n

\u201cIt is possible,\u201d George Oppen wrote, in early 1962, \u201cto find a metaphor for anything, an analogue: but the image is encountered, not found; it is an account of the poet’s perception, the act of perception; it is a test of sincerity, a test of conviction, the rare poetic quality of truthfulness.\u201d \u201cBoy\u2019s Room,\u201d which is about just such a perceptual encounter, and truthful almost to a fault,\u00a0appears in Oppen\u2019s 1965 collection, This in Which<\/em>, his second after a silence of more than twenty-five years. Between Discrete Series<\/em> (1934) and The Materials<\/em> (1962), Oppen raised a daughter; he worked as a carpenter; he joined, then became disillusioned with, the Communist party; he lived in Mexico; he fought in World War II (not necessarily in that order). What he did not do, for the most part, is write. When he returned to poetry in 1958 it was with a vigor that \u201cBoy\u2019s Room\u201d amply demonstrates. The collection that followed, Of Being Numerous<\/em> (1968), would win him the Pulitzer Prize. He died in 1984, and though the details of his personal life are salacious enough\u2014an affluent childhood, his mother’s suicide; a car accident in which his passenger was killed, a first date that led to his future wife\u2019s expulsion from college (they stayed out all night and she missed her curfew)\u2014he is largely forgotten. It\u2019s a real pity. \u201cNo ideas but in things\u201d is a line from a William Carlos Williams poem, but Oppen\u2019s work fits the bill as well as Williams\u2019s does.<\/p>\n

I can remember the first time I read \u201cBoy\u2019s Room\u201d because of the physical sensation that accompanied it: I felt like I was falling. The drop occurs in the gulf between the first and second stanza: \u201cA friend saw the rooms \/ of Keats and Shelley \/ At the lake, and saw \u2018they were just \/ Boy\u2019s rooms\u2019 and was moved \/\/ By that.\u201d I, too, was moved by that.<\/p>\n

Of course, the friend is right in a purely literal sense: Keats died at twenty-five, Shelley at twenty-nine. Confronted with their actual rooms, there’s a sense of surprise and sympathetic feeling: these towering figures of romantic poetry were not only real people, they were youngsters who had not quite outgrown their adolescence. But from the discrete thing\u2014the rooms of Keats and Shelley\u2014comes the broader idea: \u201cindeed a poet\u2019s room \/ Is a boy\u2019s room.\u201d Such a sheepish admission for the poet to make, to indict himself. <\/p>\n

A poet is like a boy\u2014selfish, introverted, solitary\u2014and it\u2019s no coincidence that women<\/em> and not girls<\/em> know it. It helps, no doubt, in reading this poem, to know a boy or two\u2014in temperament if not in age\u2014more or less in need of a woman to not only know it, but to understand it and look beyond it. But it\u2019s not necessary, for few poems crystallize as precisely the abject need any lover feels before the beloved, the fear that not only is it possible that he will not be loved in return, but that it is\u00a0right<\/em> that this should be the case.<\/p>\n

\n

A friend saw the rooms
Of Keats and Shelley
At the lake, and saw \u2018they were just
Boys\u2019 rooms’ and was moved<\/p>\n

By that. And indeed a poet\u2019s room
Is a boy\u2019s room
And I suppose that women know it.<\/p>\n

Perhaps the unbeautiful banker
Is exciting to a woman, a man
Not a boy gasping
For breath over a girl\u2019s body.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u201cIt is possible,\u201d George Oppen wrote, in early 1962, \u201cto find a metaphor for anything, an analogue: but the image is encountered, not found; it is an account of the poet’s perception, the act of perception; it is a test of sincerity, a test of conviction, the rare poetic quality of truthfulness.\u201d \u201cBoy\u2019s Room,\u201d which […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":62,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[4715],"tags":[6751,6753,6750,6749,6755,6589,165,6752,6754,3915],"class_list":["post-28029","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-the-poem-stuck-in-my-head","tag-boys-room","tag-discrete-series","tag-george-oppen","tag-john-keats","tag-of-being-numerous","tag-percy-bysshe-shelley","tag-poetry","tag-the-materials","tag-this-in-which","tag-william-carlos-williams"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nThe 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